Author's Note: It's the final chapter. Thank you to everyone whose come along on this adventure with me. I will admit to fiddling with this final chapter right up to the moment of posting so if there's any mistakes they belong to me.

Thank you again to my beta, BurgundyHope. She is a very busy artist, but she still makes time for me.

I hope you enjoy!

"The first of the parents are arriving." Madam Pince sniffed. "In my day we didn't allow parents to visit, even if their child was injured or ill, and do you know why?"

A parchment plane buzzed over Alicia's cap and she plucked it out of the air. "Enlighten me."

"Muggle parents cannot visit Hogwarts," the librarian continued in a clipped voice. "It is therefore unfair to allow magical parents to do so. It is an injustice."

Alicia looked up from the memo. "I agree."

Refolding the parchment, she slipped it into her pocket next to the bottle of Skele-Gro. All but one bed was occupied. Terry Boot had just hauled in one of the officials from Creature Control, the medi-witch from St. Mungo's was seeing to him. Apparently he'd had the misfortune of tripping over the troll's club and twisted his ankle. Otherwise, the rest of the minor injuries had been cleared.

Alicia smiled at Madam Pince as she limped past. "We'll have to find a way to remedy the situation, won't we?"

"Do you mean…Muggles at Hogwarts?" Madam Pince's mouth gaped open. If the old woman had eyebrows, Alicia was sure they would have climbed into her hairline.

"Excellent idea. I'll mention it to Minerva."

Madam Pince's sputtering face was still etched in Alicia's mind as she pulled the wheeled stool up to Mr. Averill's bed and sat. "How are you feeling?"

"Better, Madam Pucey." The boy was a bit small for thirteen with a mop of ginger hair.

"Have you had Skele-Gro before?"

He scooted down the bed as if he could hide from what was coming.

"I'll take that as a 'yes.' Then you know it doesn't taste very good."

"It hurts."

"Yes, that, too. The good news is that you'll only need a small dose. I was able to mend the break in your arm with magic, but the potion will strengthen your bones to prevent future breaks." Alicia poured two teaspoons of the smoking potion into a beaker. "While I can't do anything about the taste, the pain will be minimal at this dosage."

Mr. Averill did not seem relieved by this news. He pinched his nose and gagged down the foul concoction. Gasping, he stuck out his tongue. Alicia vanished the used beaker and glanced at the doorway in time to spot Katie and Oliver. They were dressed in Gryffindor jumpers, Belle clinging to her father's hand.

"Mum!" Rory sat up in his bed.

There was a blur of crimson and gold as Katie dashed to her son's side. She nearly tackled him into the mattress, it was hard to tell which one was hanging on harder. Alicia dug in her other pocket for a lolly and presented it Mr. Averill.

"To make up for the taste." She winked and got up to limp over to Rory's bed, hands propped on her hips. "Oi! I just put him back together."

Katie beamed at Alicia, wiping her cheeks with her palms. "Cheers."

"Auntie Alicia." Belle latched on to Alicia's hand, her smile dazzling. "Do you have a lolly?"

Alicia produced a blue lolly from her pocket.

Belle's nose scrunched up. "Do you have a red one?"

"I'm a Healer, not a lolly dispenser."

With a sigh, the little girl accepted her inferior blue lolly. "Cheers, I guess."

"Belle!" Katie scolded.

"Where's mine?" Rory asked, kicking his legs as Belle climbed over them.

"Oh, yours is coming," Alicia warned, an eye on the entrance where Oliver hovered. "Please be careful with my patient. That goes for you, too, Mr. Wood."

The shadow over Oliver's features darkened as Alicia approached. His hands were jammed in his jeans pockets and his shoulders stiff. The last time Oliver was in the Hogwarts Hospital Wing, Katie had been the patient. She'd been still and pale and none of them knew if she'd ever wake up again.

"I hate this place," Oliver said.

"This isn't like Katie," Alicia said, squeezing his rock hard bicep. "Rory's already up and bedeviling his sister."

A smile flickered around his mouth. "He bounces, aye? Like Katie."

"Go be with your family."

Tension melted from him with each step closer to Katie and the kids. Oliver joined her on the edge of the bed, overwhelming the narrow space, and Katie turned her smile on him. The last shadow disappeared in the light of her sunshine. Katie, who hated St. Mungo's to an irrational degree, couldn't remember being brought to the Hospital Wing after touching the cursed necklace. She didn't understand Oliver's reluctance, but maybe it didn't matter. They'd been married for ages and knew how to offer and accept comfort with barely a word spoken between them.

Alicia looked past the Wood family to where her husband was pretending to be asleep. She slipped her hand inside her pocket, feeling the parchment memo and running her fingers over the ridges of the Skele-Gro bottle. Some of the resolve that had carried Alicia through the day slipped. For a moment, she let herself consider how close Adrian and Rory came to catastrophe and her insides wobbled.

Closing her eyes, Alicia took a deep, fortifying breath. The crisis was over, but not her duty. The house-elves oversaw the clean up, vanishing discarded gauze and mopping blood splatters from the floor. Madam Pince was busy transcribing her notes onto patient files. There were still patients who needed a dose of potion, including the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor.

Alicia dragged herself to his bedside, flicking her wand at the privacy screens, which zoomed into place around the bed. Adrian needed a rather large dose of Skele-Gro, and few people could maintain their dignity while drinking the stuff. He wouldn't want the students to witness him gagging and sputtering to get it down.

"I thought you were avoiding me," he said.

"You know me well." Alicia sat on the edge of the bed and vanished the makeshift sling. His boneless arm flopped on the mattress like a wet noodle.

"It feels odd." Adrian undulated his shoulder but the arm merely wriggled a bit. "Like it's divorced from my body."

"But no pain? Sometimes patients feel pins and needles before their bones are restored."

"No." Adrian watched as Alicia unbuttoned the cuff around his useless wrist, then the other. She started on the row buttons down the front of his shirt, but Adrian's good hand crashed down on hers, trapping them against his chest. Alicia tugged, but he wouldn't let go.

"I need to check your arm for bruising."

"Not until you heal yourself."

"Adrian." Grunting, Alicia yanked one hand free but he caught the other. "Honestly!"

"If you'll please heal yourself."

"It's not serious."

"Then it will take only a moment."

Alicia's lips thinned. "Fine."

"Thank you."

"Your good manners are your most infuriating quality."

"I could say the same for your stubbornness. Let's see, shall we."

Searching the privacy screens for gaps and not finding any, Alicia shifted on the narrow mattress so she was leaning across her husband's legs, his knees jamming into her ribs, and hiked up her skirts. The bruise was the color of an aubergine and larger than her hand. It was angrier than Alicia imagined it would be.

"That looks painful." Adrian reached across, his fingers skimming the air above her hip.

"Not as painful as a shattered arm, I assure you."

"It's not shattered anymore." He wiggled his shoulder again. "Would you like me to heal it?"

Alicia shook her head, pointing her wand at her hip. The bruise cycled from eggplant to mulberry to puce and finally chartreuse before fading away. The dull throb eased. The ache in her back and joints disappeared, and with it the distraction. Dragging herself around on a bum hip all day kept Alicia from worrying about other, more catastrophic consequences, no matter how unlikely. She pressed her hand into her stomach.

"I have a spot of good news for you," Alicia said, eyes half-closed and tone light.

Adrian's hand settled onto her hip, his thumb rubbing circles into her skin. "You've suddenly improved the taste of Skele-Gro?"

"No, sadly. But I do have a lolly for you when it's over."

Adrian's lip curled. "Cheers. Tell me your good news, I may need something to look forward to."

Alicia pulled the parchment from her pocket. "Minerva badgered St. Mungo's into sending over two medi-witches for the night. I'll get to take you home after supper."

"That is good news. I wasn't looking forward to sleeping here. This mattress is wafer thin. Any chance of a shower?"

"Maybe. Though a sponge bath would be safer."

Adrian bit his lip. "Is that so?"

"What's that look?" Alicia sat up, smirking. "You didn't think I was performing the sponge bath, did you? Healers don't do that, love. It's a Medi-witch's job. I'll just call Gladys over, shall I. I'm sure she'll be very gentle as she strips you down."

"I can wait. It's you who'll have to sleep next to my sweat encrusted body and smelly—"

"Okay, okay! I'm sure a shower can be arranged." Alicia cocked her head to one side, scrunching up her nose. "You know, we're likely to return to a mess. Ralph's never been cooped up this long before."

"I asked Hagrid to look after him."

"Oh, you clever man." Alicia cupped his face, stubble scratchy against her palm. Adrian normally shaved twice a day while at Hogwarts, but he was less fastidious when at his cottage in France. Their cottage? It was still early days, and sometimes it was hard to wrap her mind around the ways their lives were now intertwined.

"You know," she said. "It would be much easier, and safer, to transfer you by stretcher. Less jostling of your arm, quicker…"

"Absolutely not."

"And you call me stubborn. Now, I really do need to administer the potion." She pulled the Skele-Gro out of her pocket.

"Alicia."

She looked up at him.

He looked like he might say something, but didn't. Instead, he caressed her cheek with his thumb. "I'm ready if you are."

oOo

"Here."

A plate piled high with bacon sandwiches plunked down on the table before Bobby, a crisp skittering across the wood. His stomach growled. He hadn't eaten since early morning when he'd forced porridge into his knotted gut. Despite the nerves, no good came from playing Quidditch while hungry. In the same spirit, Bobby picked up a crisp.

"Eat." Cam climbed onto the bench beside his cousin, banging his knees against the underside of the table. "Bloody hell, this was not made for tall people."

Bobby looked around, but saw no other Hufflepuffs. "Where's your food?"

"I ate in the common room already."

"Where is the rest of your House?"

"Still confined. Professor Sterns fetched me, said I should join you here."

"Did she tell you—"

"Aye."

Bobby tried to swallow, but his throat closed up. "Do you reckon…."

"I reckon they don't want to give out the news twice once Rory's on the mend. Head injury?"

Bobby nodded. He could never decide if Cam was an optimist, or if he simply refused to worry without cause. Either way, Bobby figured it was the reason Cam landed in Hufflepuff. However, Bobby was a realist. Cam hadn't seen Rory, how quiet and still he was.

"It's not like Rory was using his nut for much anyway," Cam said with a half grin.

Bobby snorted. "True. They'll find he was brainless to begin with."

"Exactly." Cam stole a crisp. "Eat. You're unbearable enough when you aren't hungry."

"Mr. Wood." Professor Longbottom, still dirty and disheveled, tripped up to the table with clipboard in hand. "Er, Misters Wood, good. I heard from the Headmistress—your brother is awake. In fact, your parents are here and you're welcome to visit him now. If you'll follow me…."

Cam extricated his long legs from the bench, but Bobby sat there for a moment. He blinked at the food on the plate, the image blurring. Something, some emotion for which he had no name, hovered over him out of reach. Cam prodded Bobby's shoulder. He stood, falling in step beside his cousin as they followed Professor Longbottom through the corridors to the Hospital Wing.

That mysterious feeling seemed to drift further away as Bobby scanned the room. Two girls from his year sat side-by-side with bandages held against their faces. Tommy Maguire, whose bed was next to Bobby's in the dorm, waved one hand, the other in a sling. Bobby hadn't noticed any of them the first time he was in the Hospital Wing with Hagrid and Rory. Hogwarts had come really close to disaster.

Finally, Bobby's eyes fell on his dad. Oliver Wood sat with his back to the entrance, his broad shoulders blocking out the person on the bed. Time, who had been unreliable and capricious all day, slowed. Bobby's lungs felt heavy. A blur of blonde pigtails and dungarees zipped past him into Cam's arms. Dad shifted, and Rory came into view. In Bobby's experience, being told something wasn't the same as seeing it with his own eyes. There, on the bed, was his perfectly fine, pain-in-the-arse brother.

The emotion hovering over Bobby swooped in, and his shoulder's sagged. Relief.

"Bobby?"

Mum stood on her tiptoes to hug him. Normally Bobby liked to take the mickey about finally outgrowing her, but not this time. The familiarity of her embrace made his heart ache. When Bobby was small, he thought her hair smelled like sunshine, but now he knew it was the flowery shampoo she used. Still, it was a good smell.

"Rumor has it you were very brave." Mum grasped the sides of Bobby's face, dragging him down to kiss his forehead.

"Well." Bobby blushed. He hadn't thought about the whole school knowing what happened in the Quidditch changing rooms, but of course they would. There were no secrets at Hogwarts, not that his supposed bravery was a secret. He did what need to be done, nothing more. "Didn't have much choice, I reckon."

Dad stood and clapped a hand on Bobby's shoulder. Cam was seated on the other side of the bed, Belle on his knee. On the mattress, Rory was none the worse for wear. If he hadn't seen it with his own eyes, Bobby would have never known how bruised his wee brother's face had been. Or how pale he'd been, unconscious in Bobby's arms. Bobby's chest heaved.

"My first match as Captain was a bit of a bust, I reckon," Bobby said.

"I didn't even get to play," Rory complained.

"There will be plenty of time for Quidditch." Mum sat on the edge of Rory's bed, fussing with his blankets.

"Aye, well, I hear Quidditch is cancelled until next term," Campbell said.

"What?" Rory bolted up, but Mum pushed him back onto the bed. His eyes were round and his mouth gaping like a trout. "They can't cancel Quidditch."

"Oh," Mum said, glancing at Dad. "I think you'll find they can."

Dad shifted, his cheeks pink. "McGonagall is heartless like that."

Despite the chorus of his family's laughter, Bobby's stomach bottomed out. In the minutes, or maybe it was eternities, after they were rescued, Bobby's full concentration had been on seeing Rory safe. Now, snatches of memories played in his mind's eye: the smashed walls, toppled stones, the torn up grass. He pictured himself following the litter Professor Longbottom had conjured from the changing rooms and through the hallway into the sun bright pitch. He remembered how suffocating the air was, filled with rock dust. He remembered sunlight filtering through busted timbers overhead.

Swallowing hard, Bobby said, "Can't play Quidditch on a destroyed pitch."

He wasn't sure if he turned into Dad's chest or if Dad had pulled him into a hug. Either way, Bobby had his face pressed into the soft cotton of his dad's jumper. The lad's lungs ached, his throat closed, tears burned his eyes. He felt like a baby, crying on his dad's shoulder. Why now? The danger was over and Rory was patched up. The family was even here. Bobby hadn't felt like crying when a troll was chasing him. Aye, maybe tears stung his eyes when he first saw Rory trapped under the lockers, but they hadn't leaked out. It was stupid he should feel weepy now.

"It's over, love." Mum's fingers carded through Bobby's hair.

"Why is Bobby blubbering like a-ow! I'm recovering here."

"Shut it, Ror," Campbell muttered.

There was part of Bobby who wished he could disappear. He didn't dare look at his brothers and sister—he disliked pity as much as ridicule. Still, he felt lighter than he had in days.

oOo

"Pomona, what are you doing here?" Minerva set down her quill, her hand was cramping anyway.

"I asked her to come," squeaked Filius, marching around Pomona Sprout with a bottle of mead in hand. "I thought we could all use a night cap and a bit of commiseration."

Minerva opened her bottom drawer, extracted a bottle, and set it atop the desk. "After the day we've had, I think we need something stronger than mead. Glenlivet—Muggle whisky. My father preferred a local distillery when I was growing up, but it's as long gone as he is. This'll have to do."

"I'll get glasses," Pomona said. She hurried over to the sideboard where Minerva kept more alcohol hidden away in a secret cabinet in the side.

The old friends settled before the hearth, glasses in hand, and said nothing as the exhaustion of the day settled into their bones. Dumbledore was over one hundred when he died, Minerva reminded herself, and still the greatest Headmaster Hogwarts had ever known. How did he do it? There were moments when she felt as old as Moses, and this was one of them.

For a long moment, Minerva stared at Pomona. The old witch—only a few years older than Minerva herself—wore dirt smudged dungarees, her fizzy hair a riot around her head. She lived in a cottage in some Welsh town with an unpronounceable name surrounded by cats and sheep. Last year, Pomona won first prize in the Hay on Wye Show for Magical Farmers. Beat out Hagrid with a pumpkin weighing in at just under a ton.

"How is retirement treating you?" Minerva asked.

Pomona narrowed her eyes. "Now you stop right there, Minerva McGonagall. You'd run mad within a fortnight."

"Tis true," Filius said, and burped. He could never hold his spirits. "You were not made for idleness."

"Hmph." Minerva sat back in her chair, squinting at her companions. "After today, idleness sounds rather pleasant."

"Then take a flying carpet tour over Christmas holiday," Pomona said.

"Merlin, that sounds dull. I think I'd rather hike the Alps."

"I think I might retire at the end of the year," the Head of Ravenclaw said.

"Filius!"

"My neighbor is placing her cottage up for sale in the spring," Pomona said, leaning over to pat his arm.

Filius shook his head. "As lovely as it would be to take tea with you everyday once more, I'm afraid I'm not cut out for country life. My brother's family lives in Paris and I should like to live there very much. The have an outstanding Charms Society."

Minerva placed her hand over her diminutive friend's. "But whatever shall I do without you?"

"That's just it, my dear. After today, I'm quite positive Hogwarts no longer needs me. You've put together a very capable staff." He took a sip of whisky. "Besides, these old bones complain about this drafty castle more and more."

"I'm sure Madam Spinnet-Pucey has a remedy for your old bones."

"But who will take his spot?" Pomona asked. "Deputy Headmaster, that is?"

"Is Pucey too young?" Minerva wondered aloud.

"Adrian was too young when you hired him as professor," Filius replied. "However, he is the obvious choice. Of course, there's Longbottom…always the dark horse."

"He has a family, do you think he'll want the extra responsibility?"

"I imagine Pucey will, too, before long."

"True." Minerva took a long sip. With Filius gone from Hogwarts, she would be the last of her generation of professors. From the corner of her eye, Minerva watched her two friends.

She would miss them.

oOo

"Charlie…."

He was having the best dream. So vivid his loins tightened, his breath shortened. Lavender was there, shrouded in honey colored hair, and whispering his name over and over. Merlin, he hadn't had a dream like this since his early twenties. The kind that left him hard and aching before he even woke up.

"Charlie…Charlie…..Oi, Chuck!"

Snorting, Charlie sat straight up. The branch of candles on the side table had burned low, casting shadows over the cottage's main room. Every muscle in Charlie's back, legs, and arms complained, as did the organ trapped inside his trousers. He wiped the corner of his mouth, blinking.

"Is it safe to come through?" Lavender's head floated in the green flames of the Floo.

"I'm alone," Charlie grunted, his eyes felt crusty with sleep.

Moments later Lavender was standing on the braided rug, brushing ash from her shoulder-bearing jumper. It was damn sexy, and utterly inappropriate for October in the Highlands. She tossed her hair back, settling her hands on her hips.

"Were you taking a kip in your chair, old man?"

There was nothing Charlie could say without confirming his status as ancient, and so he smirked at her.

"I've been following your heroics on the wireless all day." Lavender perched on his knee. Lifting her chin, she looked him over. "You promised me dinner."

"I did, didn't I? All I have is a bit of bread and some cheese." He braced his hands on the arms of the chair, but before he could stand, Lavender launched herself at him. For an instant, Charlie froze. This was a woman who wore her battle scars like fashion accessories. If there was a vulnerable heart there—and Charlie had not been allowed even a glimpse, though he had his suspicions—it was well guarded, but here she was, strangling him with her embrace. Caution was in order.

Charlie's fingers grazed her rib cage. "Hey."

"You're a bloody professor. I know you run off to Romania to relive your youth, but bloody hell, Chuck. You are forty-years-old. You are supposed to be safe and dependable and…and not get yourself squashed my marauding mountain trolls of all things! I had my fill of courageous heroes when I was a teenager."

"Lavender…." Charlie stroked her back, his mind still trying to make sense of what was happening. Only twenty-four hours ago she'd reminded him not to get used to her being around, and now she was blubbering into his chest like a maniac. "If I didn't know better, I'd say you were worried about me."

Sniffing, Lavender sat back. Her eye make-up smeared her face and stained his shirt. "Don't be ridiculous."

His body still ached and he was tired to the bone. He'd come close to losing his son today, and that fear lingered in his chest. In truth, Charlie had kept well out of harm's way with a skill learned wrangling dragons. However, Lavender was right. It could have gone the other way. The troll's club could have caught him wrong and Charlie'd be dead without ever telling Lavender what he thought of her. He grabbed his courage—the real kind, not the one he'd needed to face a troll—and put his heart on the line.

"First, I'm not forty yet," he said. "And second, you wouldn't be here if you wanted safe and dependable. You're too full of brass to want something so boring."

Lavender sniffed. "I'm here because you've a mighty fine arse for an old man."

"True, but you haven't stuck around for my arse."

"I also appreciate your abs."

One corner of Charlie's mouth crooked up. "You and I…we're kindred spirits. We've been unlucky at love, we've rebuilt our lives out of the ashes left to us, and we're scarred…." He traced the deep, raw gashes marking her neck and chest with his fingers. "I am safe, Lavender, but not because I'm an old professor. I'll guard your heart with the same bravery you were cursing a moment ago…. If you'll let me."

She crossed her arms, hands clutching the opposite elbows. "I don't do relationships."

"You were married once."

"Yes, and look how that turned out."

"So you plan to cut love from your life entirely? You're braver than that."

Lavender looked at him from the corner of her eye. "I'm not the little woman type. I won't marry again and I can't have children."

Charlie did not move an inch. He did not fold her into his arms or grab her hands; he didn't even allow himself to blink. Her words were tossed out casually, but Charlie's heart broke for her. He wondered how she knew she couldn't have children. Had a Healer informed her? Charlie doubted it. His brother, Bill, was lucky to get answers from Healers, much less compassion. No, somewhere deep inside, Charlie knew she'd come to that conclusion through experience. He wasn't going to make her excavate that pain. Maybe one day, if he'd earned the right, she'd trust him with that bit of her battered heart.

"I have a son already," Charlie said, each word measured. "I don't need more children to fulfill me, but I do want you in my life…not just my bed."

"Well, if it's the price of a good shag…."

"Lavender."

She melted into him, her head on his shoulder and her hand curled into the worn fabric of his shirt. "Slowly, alright, go slowly."

Charlie wrapped his arms around her. "I'm a patient man."

oOo

Alicia flipped off the red Bakelite wireless sitting on top of the mahogany highboy. Her hair hung loose to her waist, and the black satin pajama top strained across her bust. When they officially combined their households in August, Adrian spent two weeks trying to find a good spot for the old wireless. It didn't get great reception under the best circumstances, and their subterranean apartment posed even more challenges. He'd finally settled on the highboy where the only station they got in was opera.

"I was listening to that."

Alicia climbed onto the bed. "Your brother told me you only pretend to like opera for your mother's sake."

"Lance should learn to keep his trap shut. Still, it's better than silence, and I think I'm developing a new appreciation."

"And I think you're just trying to annoy me."

"Maybe." Adrian's smile turned into a grimace.

He was propped up against five pillows, his arm supported on another stack. Skele-Gro was a miracle. Before its advent, breaks as serious as the one Adrian suffered were mended by magic alone—often leaving the patient deformed or lame. Skele-Gro changed all that. By Sunday morning, Adrian would be good as new. He should be thankful for modern healing, and yet he found it difficult to dredge up the appropriate amount of gratitude. Regrowing his arm felt like being jabbed by a thousand needs.

"I see the Essence of Foxglove isn't working." Alicia brushed his fringe back. "I brought a sleeping draught. The pain will be nothing but a memory."

"Not yet."

"Are you sure?"

Adrian stared at Alicia for a moment, then reached for her with his good arm. "Come."

The tension melted from Alicia's face. She curled beside him, head pillowed against his stomach and hair draped over both of them. All day, Adrian knew, she'd pushed herself beyond the worry for him and her nephews and…. Adrian picked up a lock of her hair, twining it through his fingers.

Days like this one brought up old memories for everyone, stripping away the veneer of distance to make the grief and horror fresh once more. Alicia's were more painful than most—no one would blame her if she went stark, raving mad, but she was made of sterner stuff. Long before Adrian came into her life, she'd pieced her heart together, loss stitched into the fiber.

"How are you?" Adrian asked.

"I've scheduled a breakdown for tomorrow afternoon, otherwise peachy."

Worry creased his brow. "It doesn't work like that, love."

"I know." Her fist was pressed against chest.

Saturday wasn't over yet. There was the long night before them. Why was everything more terrible at night? Pain, physical and emotional, always seemed more acute after dark. Maybe because there was nothing else to distract from the anguish. Night was when Alicia's memories preyed on her. Adrian reconsidered the sleeping draught. He was next to useless with his arm immobile, but there was no need for Alicia to be alone anymore.

His hand stilled in her hair. There was another question he wanted to ask, but he struggled to find the words. In truth, they didn't speak of it in more than the broadest terms most of the time. It was defined by a list of symptoms—nausea, exhaustion, breast tenderness. They were both a little afraid their little miracle might disappear.

"How did you hurt your hip?"

For a beat, Alicia was so still she wasn't breathing, then, "I fell."

Adrian's lips folded into a line. "And-and how are you?"

"Let's find out." She shifted around so she was lying on her back, head nestled into the hollow of his shoulder. Alicia pulled her top up and bottoms down to expose her as yet unchanged stomach. Waving her wand over her belly button, a host of red letters and numbers appeared over her body.

"What is this?" Adrian asked.

"Baby's vital signs."

"And how often do you perform this spell?"

Alicia glanced at him. "I'm not telling."

"I'll take that to mean somewhere between once an hour and every day."

"Yes." Alicia pointed at one statistic. "This means the levels of amniotic fluid are normal, no signs of leakage. The placenta is still attached to the uterus which is not experiencing contractions. In fact, I can assure there is no breakthrough bleeding…."

Adrian smoothed his hand over her hair.

"And this…." Alicia's wand trembled as she pointed at a set of numbers glowing larger and brighter than the others. "This is our baby's heart rate—strong and steady for ten weeks gestation."

Adrian cupped her belly.

"In a few weeks, we'll be able to hear baby's heartbeat, actually. George's invention, he modified the Extendable Ear when Angie was pregnant."

"Ah. Evil genius or altruistic inventor: the debate goes on."

Alicia laughed. "I think that's the company motto."

"And in a few weeks, we'll be out of danger?"

She twined her fingers through his. "Yes."

"We haven't really talked of it since the morning you found out but…" Adrian fumbled for words. "I-I'm over the moon."

Alicia sighed, turning her body into his and flinging her arm over his middle. "I try to tell myself not to get attached. Miscarriages happen, but…."

"You have an unruly heart?"

"Utterly foolish." Alicia tipped her face up to look at him. "As much as I want a family, I didn't realize how much courage this would take. Some mornings it seems more prudent to stay under the covers. What could go wrong if I never left the bed?"

"That's what makes you a Gryffindor, isn't it? The ability to get out of bed and face the day?" Adrian kissed her lips, chaste and soft. "Will you be able to sleep tonight?"

Alicia shook her head. "I can feel the negative energy in all my nerve endings already. I think I'm in for a long night."

Adrian liked how honest Alicia was about her night terrors. On another witch, it might seem vulnerable, but she was simply matter-of-fact. She understood very well what brought them on, and the clues her body gave before an episode.

"Then I'll forgo the sleeping draught," he said.

"Adrian, no." Alicia sat up.

"I might be useless, but at least I'll be here for you."

"I've faced my past alone before." Her nose wrinkled. "In fact, that's how it's always been until recently."

Adrian laced their fingers together. "And you don't have to do it alone anymore. This falls under the category of for better or for worse."

"In sickness and in health, too."

"Exactly, but not poorer. We'll never have to do poorer."

"Speak for yourself, rich boy. Trying to keep up with your hoity-toity ways is depleting my bank account."

"Then you can dip into mine. As much as you want. Forever. Hey, where are you going?"

Alicia was climbing off the bed. "I'm getting the record player. If we're going to be up all night, we should find something better than opera to listen to."

Once her back was turned, Adrian grimaced. Long night, indeed.

oOo

"Do you think Bobby's sorta cute?" Roxy whispered.

In the distance, the tower clock bonged eleven times and covered Mol's gurgle of disgust. The three girls—Roxy, Mol, and Dom—had pushed their camp beds together in the unused classroom they were temporarily calling home. Moonlight crept through the gap in the curtains and Priscilla Boxwood was snoring. Roxy thought six more years of Priscilla might drive her to violence.

"Have you run mad?" Mol demanded.

"Sh." Dom stretched her long limbs and pulled the quilt up to her chin. "I don't know him as well as you two, but Maman would say he is tres beau."

Mol crossed her arms, staring up at the ceiling. "Bobby Wood is the worst, the absolute worst. The troll must have bashed you over the head."

Roxy, rolling her eyes, exchanged a smile with Dom. "He was really brave today and, I don't know, red is a nice color on him."

"I thought you were of the opinion that all boys are stupid?" Dom said.

"I am."

Roxy thought this over. When she woke up that morning, she'd been quite certain boys were idiots and she decided this was still true. But, perhaps, some boys were nice to look at even if they were still gits. Besides, Mol had a point—Bobby really could be the worst, and he was going to be her Quidditch Captain someday. If they ever played Quidditch at Hogwarts again. She frowned. That thought shoved Bobby out of her mind.

Professor Longbottom had allowed Roxy to Floo her parents earlier. She'd told Freddie running from a troll and hiding in the changing rooms was a great adventure, omitting the part where she cried. It wasn't a lie. In her mind, she was already turning the terror into excitement, but what if they never repaired the Quidditch pitch. Why come to Hogwarts at all if she couldn't play Quidditch?

Beside her, Dom rolled onto her side and threw her arm over Roxy. Within seconds, Dom would be sleeping beautifully—she did everything beautifully. However, it was the ease with which Dom fell asleep Roxy envied. Her mind was spinning with images of a Quidditch-less Hogwarts. Did they play Quidditch in America, or was it all Quodpot? Why did Americans always have to make up their own games? Sure, the rest of the world was quite happy with Quidditch, but not America. No, they needed twice as many players on the pitch and an exploding Quaffle.

"Tell me you are not thinking about bloody Bobby," Mol hissed.

"What? No!"

"Shhhhh!"

Several nasty looks were tossed Roxy's way. Heat climbed into her cheeks.

"No," she whispered. "Do you think they'll rebuild the Quidditch pitch?"

"Of course," Mol said. "The Woods will rebuild it themselves if Professor McGonagall isn't quick about it."

Roxy blew out a breath. She thought she might lend a hand if it came to it. Mum constantly warned Roxy not to look too keen, but she could never contain her passions. She loved Quidditch. She loved flying. The thought of never playing for the Gryffindor team was absolutely dismal.

"Will you be able to sleep?" Mol asked.

Roxy stared at Mol for a long time, finally asking, "Why wouldn't I?"

"Well, you were almost killed by a troll today."

"I was more likely to be crushed to death in a cave in, actually."

"Oh. Well, no big deal then."

"It wasn't until you mentioned it." Roxy glared at Mol. "Worry wart."

"One of us has to." Mol tucked her red curls behind her ear. "Actually, it was pretty scary when the wall got bashed in. I was still in the dorm and the whole thing shook. I thought…only for a moment…but I thought, maybe, the tower might collapse."

"So." Roxy's limbs were not as long as Dom's, but she rolled onto her side and flung her arm over Mol anyway. It landed on Mol's shoulder, but it would have to do. "You're saying we both almost died in a cave in today?"

Mol rolled her eyes. "Yes, I reckon I am."

"Freddie and Jamie will never have a story that cool."

"Fine!" Mol pulled a face. "But you know where to find me if you have nightmares."

"Back at you."

Roxy yawned first. The girls' fingers intertwined, Priscilla's snores the only sound in the classroom. Well, in the end, this Saturday hadn't been like any other. Roxy was just glad to have survived it, hopefully to play Quidditch again.